Physically Impossible
by shiawasena neko
Summary: An error during a scientific experiment makes Sherlock become pregnant. Mpreg, obviously. Not slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Neither myself nor Phish Tacko have much knowledge of chemistry so we wrote this as best we could. The main point was to knock Sherlock up.**

Ch. 1

"Maybe the testing machine was broken," John suggested, watching as Sherlock carefully injected a blood sample into a petri dish filled with various chemicals.

"Tried two other machines and the autopsy showed that the victim exhibited signs of recently having been pregnant. The medical examiner even tested his blood, and it had high levels of HcG. He ran that test three times, by the way."

John sighed.

"What exactly are you trying to prove, anyway?"

"I'm trying to figure out how this happened. Is it something genetic? A virus that mutates men? The victim had no external female genitalia yet had a uterus. Hopefully this mixture will allow me to get an even better view of his cells under the microscope."

"So… assuming this information is all correct, the baby was cut out of him, then?"

"Obviously. How else would it get out?"

John shook his head.

"I don't even want to think about that. Alright, well, if you need any help let me know. I can take a second look at any slides you make, if you'd like."

"Thank you," Sherlock mumbled. He was once again concentrating on the experiment at hand. He didn't notice John walking behind him as he tried to move to the other side of the room.

"…And there we go," Sherlock said, as he injected the correct amount of blood into the solution that he'd created. He was so focused that when he moved his hand back, he bumped John. John yelled, startling Sherlock. This, in turn, caused the detective to react by falling forward onto the table with the experiment. Within seconds, the petri dish had fallen and its contents – which Sherlock had worked so hard on – were spilled all over his shirt.

"Bloody hell!" Sherlock shouted, jumping back.

Within seconds, the mixture had begun to eat through Sherlock's shirt, hitting his lower stomach.

"What the hell did you mix it with?!" John asked.

"Several acids… Not too strong but enough to break down the cells somewhat so I can see their insides – ow!" Sherlock hissed.

"Take off your shirt!" John said, quickly moving to help his friend.

Sherlock didn't even bother unbuttoning it. Rather, he ripped it off and threw it on the ground.

Now that he was shirtless, John noticed that the detective's skin was red.

"It looks like you've got a burn. Do you have a list of the chemicals you used? Maybe I can pull up some MSDS* sheets on them."

"Just need some cool water and sterile gauze. I should be fine," Sherlock replied, clearly irritated that his experiment was ruined. "Those sheets usually just tell you to wash it and tape it up anyway."

"Still, it looks like a first degree burn – are you sure none of what you used is toxic?"

"I said I'm fine, John!" Sherlock snapped.

"Alright, I'll get the water and gauze, but if it gets any worse, you'd better let me examine you!"

"Water, John!" Sherlock said, impatiently.

John rolled his eyes as he started off towards the bathroom to get the required supplies.

*MSDS = Material Safety Data Sheet, something that can be found with most chemical that outlines how to properly use and store the chemicals and how to treat physical contact with the chemicals.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this! Go read her stuff!**

Ch. 2

At first it appeared that Sherlock was right. He seemed fine once the burns were cleaned with cool water and dressed with gauze.

For several hours he wallowed in anger, knowing that he would have a hard time getting another blood sample from the victim. John ignored him during this. He didn't feel like dealing with Sherlock's mood swings that day.

Then, around suppertime, the pain started.

Sherlock tried to hide it at first, but his silence and reluctance to eat anything soon caused John to become concerned.

"Are you alright?" John asked, as he put Sherlock's portion of their meal away for later. "Usually you like the meatloaf I make."

"…Fine," Sherlock replied. He subconsciously rested a hand on his stomach.

John noticed this quickly.

"Does your stomach hurt?"

"No," Sherlock glared at him. "As I said, I'm fine."

"But you won't eat and you're holding your stomach."

With that, Sherlock drew his hand away, mentally berating himself for not catching himself doing that.

"Stop it, John," Sherlock growled. "I'm fine. Leave it at that."

Then he stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room. I need to think."

With that, Sherlock stormed out. John scratched his head, trying to figure out what was going on. Sherlock was clearly in some type of pain, but as always, he didn't want to let anyone know. Well, he figured, when it got bad enough Sherlock would have to let him in. He only hoped that the detective hadn't managed to poison himself.

00

Once in his bedroom, Sherlock closed the door. He was currently experiencing stomach cramps. He had never felt anything like it before. The best course of action, he figured, was to lie down and wait for it to pass. Surely things would be fine after he rested.

00

John stayed up late typing up a draft of a blog entry about their most recent case. It was one of the more odd ones, that was for sure. It was the one about the man who'd had a child – who'd carried a child, more accurately. Now, though, he was tired. He'd review the draft in the morning before publishing it.

As he walked towards his bedroom, he heard a noise. It stopped him in his tracks. It sounded like someone was moaning.

Actually, it sounded like Sherlock was moaning.

'Shit...' John thought to himself. Leave it to Sherlock to end up with some type of chemical poisoning because he wouldn't treat his burns properly.

Another moan sounded and John frowned. He decided to go check on his flatmate. Sherlock never complained about sickness, so whatever he was feeling must have been pretty bad.

John headed over to Sherlock's room and knocked on the door.

"Sherlock?" John called out. "You alright in there?"

There was no answer besides another moan.

Taking that as a "No, I'm not alright", John spoke up again.

"Clearly you're in pain. I'm opening the door now."

With that, he pushed the door open and walked into the room.

Sherlock was on his bed, curled up in a fetal position, eyes closed. He was moaning in agony.

"Sherlock?!" John raced to his bedside. "Sherlock, what's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

Sherlock struggled to turn to see John, but the movement was too painful. He'd never felt anything like this before in his life. It was agonizing.

Realizing that Sherlock couldn't move, John made his way to the other side of the bed.

"Sherlock, tell me what hurts."

Now that he could see the detective's face up close, it was clear that Sherlock was sweating profusely. John reached out and touched his head, feeling for a fever. His skin was cool.

"Can you talk?"

"Stomach… It hurts..." Sherlock choked out. His eyes began to water.

If Sherlock was actually crying because of pain, John knew he had to call for help. He pulled out his mobile phone and dialed 999. Just as he hung up with emergency services, Sherlock's eyes rolled back and he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this! Go read her stuff!**

Ch. 3

Sherlock awoke to rays of morning sunshine flooding through the window.

For a few seconds, he was confused. Where was he? He glanced around.

White walls. Pastel colored cabinets. Containers for medical waste… He was at the hospital.

Memories of the previous night flooded back to him. He recalled being in pain – not bad at first, but it got steadily worse as the night wore on. He remembered being unable to move, and John coming into his room and calling for help. That was where his mind left off.

Since John had called for help, his present location made sense. He sighed, closed his eyes and did his best to concentrate on himself. What was he feeling? Pain? Was he feeling sick at all? If not, maybe he could leave.

After a few seconds it became clear that he was still feeling pain, but not as bad as the pain that he'd felt previously. He didn't feel quite well enough to go walking around but if he had to, he probably could.

As that thought came to a close, John walked into the room, followed by Molly Hooper.

"Sherlock! Good to see you awake," John said, though his expression seemed grim. Molly looked equally as upset.

"What's going on? What did I poison myself with? I've been running through the list of chemicals, and it's possible that one of the acids got into my blood stream, but I think if you can put me on dialysis, maybe there's a chance -"

Sherlock stopped as John held up his hand.

"You're not poisoned. Well, not really. It's actually a strange situation."

"You're not dying," Molly added, realizing that Sherlock was probably thinking the worst.

"Well then what's the problem? Also, why is she here?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you see," John began, trying to choose his words carefully. "Molly is here because I needed help doing some research. After the results of the MRI, we felt it necessary to do some digging."

"Get on with it, John." Sherlock was beginning to get annoyed.

"You have a uterus," Molly said. "You grew one. In your body. That's why your stomach hurt. You've literally grown a new organ."

Sherlock didn't speak. For a split second, he thought that maybe Molly was joking, but the look on her face told him that she was being serious.

"Is that even physically possible?"

"Apparently it is," John replied. "I mean. We did 2 MRI's and an ultrasound while you were out. We had to sedate you, by the way. You kept waking up and yelling in pain. Don't know if you remember that."

Sherlock shook his head 'no'.

"Well, we did. Anyway, our research shows that this has happened before, a few times, mainly in rural areas in other countries. Eastern Africa has an example, for instance, and there's a few in Eastern Europe – mainly Romania, for some reason. There have been two in the UK, one of which was the victim we found at the last crime scene. All of them had similar symptoms, abdominal pain and such, before their body generated a uterus."

"I see."

"There's more," John went on. "All of the men who experienced the symptoms came into contact with other men with the same affliction. Had blood contact, actually. And all of them became pregnant."

John would have thought that this bit of news would've shocked Sherlock. Instead, the detective's mind was racing with scientific thoughts.

"So it's like a virus, then. It causes the mutation of cells within those that come into contact with it."

"Sort of, yes. It tells the body to build a new organ."

"Amazing. And have all of the men survived?"

"Almost all survive if they are able to remove the fetus in time."

"So it's only internal organs, then, no birth canals?"

"We did find two cases where the men grew a birth canal but it seems to be the norm for them not to. The ones who did grow it were able to give birth… naturally, I guess, is the right way to say it."

"I suppose... Imagine the implications of this! Does the ECDC have any records on this?"

"No, that's just it – it seems almost like they're trying to avoid discussing it. Possibly to avoid a national panic. All of the articles on it came from relatively obscure scientific and medical journals."

"Ah. Interesting. It's a bit of a secret, then. I bet Mycroft would know about it."

Molly shook her head, stunned that Sherlock wasn't registering the most important part of this whole conversation.

"You're pregnant, Sherlock," She finally said. "Doesn't that scare you a bit?"

Sherlock looked at her for a second, deciding how to respond. He finally came to the conclusion that it was best to stay calm.

"It's fine, Molly. I'll figure it out. I always do."

"You seem almost like you're in denial," Molly replied.

"Not at all! This is a very important piece of scientific history! We've got to do more research, John. Figure out more about this."

John stared at him for a moment.

"…Right, then. Okay, Sherlock. You just rest for a while, and once we do another scan, if it's clear, then we'll take you home, alright?"

"Great. And take some of my blood before you leave. We'll need it for testing later!"

"Will do, Sherlock," John answered, shaking his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this! Go read her stuff!**

Ch. 4

Despite protests from several doctors at the hospital, Sherlock signed himself out later that day, stating that John would be there to help him if any other issues came up.

Once back at the flat, Sherlock set to work straight away. He had research to do and experiments to conduct. His first order of business was to ask John for links to the journals where he'd found his original evidence. A few were online, but several were print journals he and Molly had found at the library. John was sent out to make copies of the print journals and bring them back.

In the mean time, Sherlock began looking up names mentioned in the online journals, going so far as to hack into a hospital's computer system to get information about a case.

The report stated that the man who had come in was 33 years of age and had a very distended abdomen. He was complaining of extreme, intermittent pain, which was later discovered to be contractions. During an interview with a doctor, the patient admitted that he had been in Africa about nine months prior, working as a nurse for Doctors Without Borders. While there, he had come in contact with a patient with similar symptoms. The patient's blood had gotten into a cut on his arm and he assumed that this was how he had contracted the illness.

Within hours of being admitted, the patient had gone into labor. He was found to have developed a birth canal and the baby was born naturally. The patient suffered no ill side effects and the baby was healthy. It was noted that the child appeared to have darker skin, indicated that the other parent was of African descent.

That was all there was. Nothing about DNA tests proving that the African patient was the other parent, no full-body work-ups, nothing much more than a basic set of vital statistics and an outline of how the labor progressed.

Sherlock shook his head, disappointed with the lack of information, and moved on to his next article. This one was written in Romanian. He used google translate to understand it. It spoke of a 24 year old male who had needed a c-section to remove his baby. He had come into contact with the blood of his friend, a 23 year old male who had also become pregnant.

It definitely seemed that blood was the way that the disease, or whatever it was, passed from person to person.

The article noted that the two men were then quarantined for a month until doctors cleared them to leave, and that they were told to be extremely careful about any blood contact with others, lest they spread the illness.

Sherlock had just finished researching the second article when John returned, copies in hand.

"Here you go." He passed them to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded and began to look them over. One of them described another patient from the UK. He would have to get back into the hospital's database. Well, he'd done it once, he could do it again.

Except this time, when he tried to get in, he was blocked. Something or someone had caught on to his previous hack.

"Bloody hell," Sherlock mumbled.

Well, that only meant one thing. He'd have to go see Mycroft. Perhaps he would have more information.

00

"Ah, Sherlock," Mycroft greeted his younger brother. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"I suppose you were notified about the hospital database hack?"

"Of course I was. We have to keep an eye on you, you know."

Sherlock frowned.

"May I come in?"

"By all means." Mycroft held the door open.

Sherlock walked in and sat down on Mycroft's couch. It was later in the evening and Mycroft had finished work and was now at home. For some reason, that made Sherlock feel a bit better. Talking about this subject in Mycroft's office would have felt more awkward. Being in a more familiar place was nice.

"As you can likely tell, I was looking up information about a very unique patient that was treated at St. Bart's. His name was Marcus Landowski and he was treated one year, three months and four days ago."

"Marcus Landowski. Yes, he was an interesting one. I recall his case. Why do you need to know about him?"

"A man with a similar illness was recently killed and he had the same condition as Marcus. I need to learn more about it."

"And the information you pulled up on the first patient wasn't enough?"

"It was vague. I need something more in-depth. I know you've got notes on Marcus and I need access to them."

"For a case," Mycroft repeated.

"Yes, Mycroft. Must I repeat the whole story?"

"No." Mycroft smirked, as if he was on to something. It made Sherlock feel uncomfortable but he managed to keep a straight face.

"The case you're interested in is highly confidential. We don't want word of it getting out. You must understand why - people would go mad! So we've been keeping it quiet."

"The files, Mycroft." Sherlock was now getting impatient.

"Who is this victim? Why does he mean so much to you that you've come to me for help?"

"He's a victim for a case. An important case. That's all you need to know."

"And you're sure there are no personal reasons? You didn't, perhaps, come into contact with the victim's blood, did you?"

"Of course not! I wear protective gloves when examining blood or any bodily fluids." It was a lie, of course, but Sherlock wasn't quite ready to tell Mycroft about his condition just yet.

"Right. Well, I can get you the file you need. I'll have it tomorrow afternoon, if you'd like to come to my office then."

"That would be fine," Sherlock agreed.

Mycroft nodded and stood up. He led Sherlock to the door.

Just as the detective was about to leave, Mycroft spoke up.

"You know, 'Mycroft' would make a good name, if it's a boy. It's unique and quite handsome, too."

Sherlock sighed.

"...How'd you know?"

"Like I said, little brother. We're always watching you. Good luck with that new uterus. Hopefully you wont have too many troubles."

Sherlock wanted to tell Mycroft to go fuck himself, but he held back. He needed the file on Landowski.

"Good night, Mycroft," Sherlock said. He walked off before Mycroft could respond.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this! Go read her stuff!**

Ch. 5

Sherlock returned home from his meeting with Mycroft and got right to work. Thankfully, John was there and could help out.

"We need to document everything - get as much detail as possible," Sherlock explained. He was currently setting up a camera. "Make yourself useful. Get a tourniquet and draw some of my blood, then freeze it."

"Didn't we just take blood earlier?"

"Just do it. I want to store a bit more. We'll take weekly samples, see if or how things change. We'll take photos of how I look every week, measurements as well. And would it be possible to get an ultrasound done weekly?"

"Well, I suppose it could be done, but Sherlock, you really need to rest. And you need to think about this. Think about what's happening! In nine months, you'll be a father! That's a huge life change, mate. Really, it is."

Sherlock, of course, ignored John.

"Get the tourniquet and needles or get out of the way."

John shook his head and went off to get what was needed.

00

A couple weeks later, Sherlock woke up early. Very early. He felt nauseous, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time. It seemed like everything he had eaten in the past day was coming up. Sherlock was feeling so ill that he didn't even notice the footsteps walking towards the bathroom, or the sound of the door opening. He did, however, notice that someone had begun to rub his back.

John. It had to be John.

When the last of the dry heaves ended, Sherlock sat back, throat raw and body weak.

John flushed the toilet and got Sherlock a glass of water before kneeling down and holding it to the detective's mouth. Sherlock may not have noticed it, but his hands were shaking, and John doubted that he would be able to hold the glass himself.

"Small sips," John instructed.

Sherlock closed his eyes but did as he was told, taking small gulps of water. He managed to drink half the glass before beginning to feel ill again. Thankfully, John took the glass away.

"I feel awful," Sherlock admitted, resting his hand on his stomach.

"I'd expect so. Looks like you've just had your first bout of morning sickness."

"Ugh." Sherlock leaned back further against the bathroom wall.

"Let me help you up and take you back to bed," John said, holding out a hand.

Sherlock reluctantly took it. He didn't like being coddled like this, but he felt so weak that he didn't have much of a choice. He doubted that he would make it back to his room on his own. The dizziness alone was nearly overwhelming.

"There we go," John said softly as they entered Sherlock's room. He deposited the detective on the bed and quickly grabbed the nearest rubbish bin. He put it down within easy reach for Sherlock if he needed it again.

Sherlock curled up on the bed and did his best to pull the covers around him. He just wanted to go back to sleep, but his stomach still hurt and his head was still spinning, even when he closed his eyes.

John must have picked up on the fact that something was still wrong, because Sherlock soon felt the bed dip as John sat on its edge.

Slowly, John began to once again rub Sherlock's back in a silent attempt to comfort him.

"This'll happen every day?" Sherlock asked, after several moments.

"For a few months, yes. But it'll probably stop once you're in your second trimester."

Sherlock groaned again. He was definitely not looking forward the coming weeks.

00

Eventually Sherlock fell back asleep, waking up again around midday. He found that John was cleaning up the flat.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked as he walked out of his room. He was still dressed in his pajamas and dressing gown.

"Mrs. Hudson's coming. Ever since you were rushed to St. Bart's, you know how's she's been, coming up every few days to make sure you're alright. I told her you might be sleeping, so feel free to go back into your room if you don't feel like talking with her."

"Hmm. Do we have any time before she's coming? I'd like to do a few measurements and take some photos."

John looked at the clock.

"We've got half an hour. We can do them quickly, I suppose. The place is mostly clean."

Sherlock nodded and moved towards the table that held the laptop that he had been using to track everything. He turned the computer on.

"Alright… Six weeks and one day," He said aloud as he typed the information into a spreadsheet. "What time do you think I woke up at?"

"It was around four," John answered.

"Can you be more specific?"

"No, Sherlock," John replied. "You woke me up too. I just remember that it was near four in the morning."

Sherlock huffed, but typed something into the spreadsheet.

"And how long do you think I was vomiting for?"

"Oh, lord. I don't know. Fifteen minutes?"

"It felt like longer than that."

"Twenty, then."

"...Fine." Clearly, Sherlock was not pleased with not having the exact timings, but it would have to do for now. "Alright, let's get a measurement."

John grabbed the tailor's tape measure that they'd been using. So far, Sherlock's body had changed very mildly. His waist had grown by a half inch at most. Yet today, when Sherlock removed his shirt, John instantly noticed a change, albeit a small one.

"Look at that! You've got a little bump!"

Sherlock looked down. John was right. His once-flat stomach now had a small bulge. It wasn't much at all - he doubted anyone would notice it unless they were looking for it, but there it was.

"The tape measure, John!" Sherlock said. John handed it over.

Sherlock wrapped it around his navel.

"88.9 centimeters"* He called out.

John typed the measurement into Sherlock's computer.

"So you've gone up a bit, then."

"Not that much. Get the camera ready."

John moved towards the camera as Sherlock readied himself for the first of three photos - one from the front and two side profiles, each with him facing an opposite direction.

"There we go," John said as he took the last photo.

"Fantastic. We can do bloodwork later, after Mrs. Hudson's gone," Sherlock said as he pulled his shirt back on.

"Alright," John agreed.

Right then, there was a knock at the door.

"You'd better run off if you'd like her not to see you," John whispered.

"Hm. Do you think she'll bring those blueberry scones she makes?"

"Um. Maybe," John answered.

"Because I could really go for one of them right now."

"Having cravings, are we?" John joked.

Sherlock shrugged. He might as well let Mrs. Hudson see that he was fine.

John let their landlady in, and she immediately hugged Sherlock.

"I was so worried!" She said sincerely. "I'm so glad that you're alright."

Sherlock forced a smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." He noticed the basket that she had carried in. "Are those blueberry scones?"

"Why yes, they are!"

Sherlock smiled again and quickly took the basket, grabbing one and eating it quickly.

"Ooh. You must be hungry," She said, as Sherlock started stuffing a second one into his mouth.

"He hasn't eaten all morning," John tried to explain. He pulled the basket away from Sherlock before he could grab a third.

Sherlock glared at him, but said nothing. The three then sat down to talk.

00

An hour later, Mrs. Hudson was gone, having left the basket behind. Sherlock was making it his mission to finish them off.

"You keep doing stuff like that, and we'll have to tell everyone sooner rather than later," John warned.

"Eating scones?" Sherlock asked, as he swallowed another bite.

"Eating entire baskets of scones. You barely eat, Sherlock. People are going to think it's odd."

Sherlock frowned and put the basket down.

"I suppose you're right." He hadn't even really considered telling anyone else. Not yet, at least.

Sensing his friend's worry, John sat down next to him and put a hand on Sherlock's knee.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. We'll figure it out and tell everyone when the time is right. You might have to stop taking cases for a bit, but you'll get through it."

"Stop taking cases? Never!"

"Yes, well, imagine yourself six or seven months from now trying to chase down a criminal. I doubt it'll be as easy as you think it is."

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms.

"I'll be fine, John. Now, if you don't mind, we need to get blood samples."

John sighed. Sherlock still wasn't fully accepting this pregnancy yet.

"Fine, Sherlock. Let me go get the supplies."

* 88.9 cm = 35 inches.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this! Go read her stuff!**

Ch. 6

Another month and a half passed, bringing Sherlock to the end of his first trimester. As John had predicted, the morning sickness was starting to lessen, but it was quickly replaced with mood swings and odd cravings.

Sherlock still wasn't showing much, at least. He still fit into all of his clothes, though they were starting to get a bit tight. Sherlock figured that he had another month or so before he'd have to go up another size.

And, as per usual, he and John were carrying on with their experiments - taking blood, photos, measurements and doing ultrasounds. All of it was interesting. Very, very interesting.

The best part, Sherlock decided, was the "high" of the good moods that he sometimes found himself in. It was like he was happy for absolutely no reason and it felt amazing. The worse part was the times when he felt miserable - sad, or angry - for no real reason.

Today was one of those days where he was feeling sad.

He was just wrapping up a case. It was a particularly distressing case for all involved. Two children had been murdered. One was five years old and another was a mere baby of not even a year. The parents had tracked down the man who'd killed their children - a pedophile nearby - and had killed him themselves before being apprehended by Sherlock at a distant relative's house.

Sherlock was glad to have solved the case, but the thought of those dead children haunted him. He was quiet for most of the time that he spent at Scotland Yard.

"What's wrong with Sherlock?" Donovan asked loudly.

She, Anderson, Sherlock and Lestrade were finalizing the report on the murders and Sherlock had been staring at the photos of the children for several minutes.

"I don't know," Anderson replied equally loudly. "You know how he's been lately, so moody. Odd, isn't it?"

"Guys, shut it," Lestrade reprimanded.

Both of them ignored the order.

"It _is _odd," Donovan said. "Y'know, the only ones who act like that are either psychotic or pregnant women. Or people, now, I suppose we can say. You've heard about the cases of pregnant men?"

"Wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock was one of 'em. Maybe that's why the crime bothers him so much, eh? Is that right, Sherlock? Did your little doctor partner knock you up?"

"SHUT UP." Sherlock hissed. He turned around and glared at the two. "Two innocent children were raped and murdered and you make jokes! You are disgusting, horrible people." He looked at Lestrade, who was staring at him, mouth open in stunned silence. "I'm leaving now. Call if you need me."

With that, Sherlock walked out.

00

Sherlock managed to keep relatively calm on the cab ride back to his flat, but as soon as he walked in the door, he completely broke down. He wasn't sure why - he just felt like he couldn't hold it back anymore. Tears poured down his face and he cried loudly, not caring who heard him.

It wasn't long before Mrs. Hudson's door opened. The older woman stepped out, wondering what the problem was. She was shocked to see Sherlock, of all people, crying hysterically.

"Sherlock! What's wrong?" She asked, coming to his side.

"Oh, God…" He gasped.

Mrs. Hudson looked him over.

"Are you injured? Sherlock, tell me what's happened so I can help!"

"...They were just children! Innocents! Raped and tortured and murdered and left in the rubbish bins as if they meant nothing!"

Mrs. Hudson wasn't sure what to say to that. Sherlock must've been working a particularly difficult case, she gathered. Instinctively, she pulled him into a hug. To her surprise, Sherlock didn't resist. Instead, he rested his head on her shoulder. Mrs. Hudson ran her hand up and down his back gently.

"Shhh, it's alright," She whispered. "Let it out."

Sherlock continued to cry, occasionally mumbling things about the children and their family and the awful person who'd killed them. Mrs. Hudson, for her part, simply listened. When he was finally done crying, she ran back to her flat and brought some tissues for him to blow his nose.

"Sherlock," She said after he was done wiping his eyes. "I've never seen you like this. Is there anything I can do?"

Sherlock shook his head sadly.

"I've got to tell you something. You may as well find out now, because you'll find out soon any way. I'm pregnant."

Mrs. Hudson stared at him for a moment.

"Pregnant?" She repeated.

"Yes - with child. It's because of this virus that spreads through blood contact - I came into contact with another pregnant man and it spread to me and now I've got his child inside me."

Mrs. Hudson again stared in disbelief.

"But Sherlock, surely you know that men cannot have children?" She was beginning to wonder if maybe he had gone batty.

"Some of them can, Mrs. Hudson. Some of them, like me, like Marcus Landowski, like those two men in Romania."

"I see."

Thankfully, John returned home at that moment. Mrs. Hudson was incredibly grateful.

00

Once John saw what was happening, he took over.

"Sherlock, let's get you upstairs, alright?"

Sherlock nodded and allowed his friend to help him up.

As the two walked up the stairs, John turned back to Mrs. Hudson.

"I'll talk with you later," He said.

Then, they were at the door. John unlocked it and allowed Sherlock to enter first. In the short time that they'd walked, Sherlock had somehow become upset yet again, and was crying, silently this time. John put down the bag of groceries he was carrying and led Sherlock to his bedroom.

John sat Sherlock on the bed and fished around the dresser for a pair of pajamas. The man needed to rest, to sleep, maybe he'd feel better after a nap.

"Here we go," John said gently, handing over the garments. He turned his back as Sherlock rid himself of his work clothes and slid into the pajamas. When John turned back around, Sherlock was in bed, covers pulled up around him.

John sat down next to him.

"Want to tell me what's bothering you?" He asked, softly.

"The case… with the children…" Sherlock started.

John knew what he was talking about. That case had been all over the news. Two children had been kidnapped and the search for them was on. Sherlock had been involved from the beginning.

"We found them dead. Tortured. They were innocent, John, and some monster hurt them. Made them cry, made the older one beg, probably..." The tears began to flow harder once again.

John nodded in understanding.

"I can see why that case would bother you, Sherlock. You'll have your own child soon." They hadn't yet discussed whether Sherlock would keep the baby or give up for adoption, but judging by the protective way Sherlock seemed to be acting, it seemed like he might end up keeping it.

"I don't want to raise it in a world like this, with such horrible people." Sherlock whispered.

John frowned.

"Yes, Sherlock. There are bad people."

Sherlock looked at him as if to say 'You're not making things better.'

John continued.

"But there are also good people. Kind, loving people. And you can raise your child to be a good, helpful person. You can bring them up right and teach them to fight the good fight, so to speak. One more soldier on the 'side of the angels', if you get what I mean."

Sherlock hadn't really considered that before.

"They might grow to be a genius." Sherlock replied. "If they were, maybe they could help solve crimes too."

"Maybe. And even if they're not as intelligent as you, you can still raise them to be good. For every terrible person, there's a good one. You just have to look for it, Sherlock. Keep your eyes open and you'll see it."

Sherlock sighed, finally feeling a bit better.

"That was quite profound," He finally said.

John smiled.

"I've been known to think deeply on occasion. Now, I think you ought to sleep. I'll make us some supper while you rest."

John stood up to go, but Sherlock caught his wrist.

"John," He said, looking up at his flatmate. "Thank you."

"Anytime, mate. Anytime."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for helping me to beta this story!**

Ch. 7

Sherlock ended up sleeping through supper and through the night before finally waking the next morning. His earlier meltdown had drained him of all energy and he needed to rest.

As he got out of bed, he noticed the smell of pancakes wafting into the bedroom. John must have been cooking breakfast. Sherlock stood up, stretched, and made his way out into the kitchen.

"Ah, back from the dead, I see," John said, smiling at him. "Just in time, too. Pancakes are ready."

Sherlock seemed to be craving carbs a lot lately, so John figured that pancakes were a safe bet as far as breakfast foods went.

Sherlock sat down at the table as John placed a few pancakes on his plate. He was just about to take a bite when a thought suddenly popped into his mind.

"John."

"Yes, Sherlock?" John was about to start on his own breakfast.

"John, I'm going to have a baby."

John smirked.

"Yes, we've known that for months now."

Sherlock stared at him, eyes wide.

"I'm going to be a _father_."

"Yes, you are. Is this just hitting you now? I knew it would, eventually."

"I'm going to have to take care of it."

"The baby? Yes, but I'll be there to help. And Mrs. Hudson, too." John had spoken with their landlady the previous evening, and he had explained that Sherlock had not lost his mind and was, in fact, pregnant.

Sherlock said nothing in response, just stared at the wall. It was clear that the detective's mind was going a thousand miles an hour as he finally processed the fact that soon enough, he would be a dad.

After several minutes, Sherlock pushed his breakfast away.

"John, can you tell what sex it is?"

"Not yet, no. You've still got a few more weeks before that's possible."

"Hm."

"I guess you're planning on keeping it then?"

"Of course," Sherlock answered, matter-of-factly. "It's my child, after all."

John nodded.

"Any ideas on what gender you might prefer?" John figured that he might as well get Sherlock talking and see what he thought about the whole thing.

"I… I'm not sure," Sherlock admitted. "On one hand, if it were a boy, I would have more in common with him and maybe we would get along, have similar interests and such. But I suppose the same could be true for a girl. Oh, but the hormones, John! What happens when she becomes a teenager?!"

"Then you get a baseball bat and scare off any man that comes near her." John suggested.

That thought hadn't even occurred to Sherlock. He was thinking more about how a girl's attitude might be more apt to change once she came of age. She probably wouldn't want to be around her dad, that was for sure. Not even if he was a genius detective.

"You know, either way, the kid will be fine. I'm sure you'll do a good job and they'll love you."

Sherlock just smiled again.

"John. I'm going to be a DAD."

"Well, now, maybe it would be a good idea to look into the other parent? See what he's like, maybe?"

"Absolutely," Sherlock replied. "I'll get on it right away."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this!**

Ch. 8

"DaShawn Williams, age 31," Sherlock read. He was looking at the file he had on the murder victim whose blood he'd come into contact with.

The case itself had been solved as a simple mugging that had gone too far – DaShawn had been shot even though he'd willingly given up his wallet. Sherlock was now searching for as much information as he could about the man.

"Looks like he was a social worker," Sherlock said. "Lived in Tower Hamlets. His son was named James. James Evan Williams. He was two months old when his father was killed."

"Tower Hamlets… That's a pretty rough area," John replied. He was starting to get nervous. If the other parent lived in the ghetto, would his relatives be friendly or even receptive to Sherlock?

Sherlock, however, seemed unfazed.

"Here's a photo of him." He handed John a color photograph of a good looking, mixed-race young man with green eyes.

"He was quite handsome."

"Yes, he was. The file says he was married and lived in a flat with his wife and their other child, who was born naturally. Also, apparently he graduated from the University of London."

"Ah. That's good, I suppose."

"There's a phone number here. I think I'll give them a call." Sherlock picked up his phone, but before he could dial, John stopped him.

"Sherlock, I know you're excited, but think about what you're going to say to these people. They've just lost a loved one and they may have had hard lives. Choose your words carefully."

Sherlock put down the phone.

"Yes, John, I know."

00

Somehow, Sherlock managed to avoid being totally socially awkward when he called DaShawn's widow an hour later. To his pleasant surprise, she seemed to be rather friendly. When she heard that he was carrying her late husband's child, she was more than happy to allow him to visit. In fact, she said, she would invite the rest of his family too. Then he could learn more about DaShawn, and they could learn more about Sherlock.

John agreed to come along, and so the following weekend, they were off.

00

The Williams' flat was rather large, larger than Sherlock expected it to be. It was rather well kept, too. DaShawn's widow was a lovely young woman named Sierra. She welcomed them kindly, giving both Sherlock and John hugs.

Once inside, she began introducing them to her family.

"Mr. Holmes, this is Selah, our daughter," She said, pointing at a little girl that had green eyes much like her father's. She looked to be two or three years of age. She was sitting on another woman's lap and she waved at them but said nothing.

"Ever since DaShawn's been gone, she hasn't said much," Sierra whispered. Suddenly, Sherlock felt the sadness coming on. Before he could get too upset, Sierra continued with the introductions.

"This is DaShawn's sister, Ruby."

Sherlock nodded at her, then happily accepted the seat that Sierra had offered. He noticed that nearby there was a bassinet that the baby was sleeping in.

It felt somewhat awkward, meeting of these new people, especially so close after their loved one's death, but it seemed as if they were doing their best to make their visitors feel comfortable.

"So Sierra tells me that you got the same virus that DaShawn had," Ruby said.

"Yes. I was actually part of the team that investigated his… That investigated what happened." Sherlock said, not wanting to upset the little girl. "I had taken some blood samples to investigate further and one spilled on me. Since he's the other parent, I thought it might be good to get to know his relatives."

"I think DaShawn would have liked that," Ruby said. "He was a good guy."

"We read through his case file. He was a social worker, yes?" John asked.

"He was, and he was one of the best that Foster Team had. He was very passionate about working with those kids and he always wanted to do what was right for them, find them good homes and whatnot."

"It sounds like he was a good man." John replied.

"He was. He had a hard upbringing." Sierra said. "He went through the foster system himself. Ruby was with him sometimes. Thankfully they kept in touch as adults."

"I think that was what pushed him," Ruby added. "He knew how hard life was when we were in the system, and he wanted to make life better for kids in similar situations. He worked his way through college and paid for his own flat while working full time. He really wanted a better life for himself, and especially Sierra and Selah."

"Do you know if he knew the other parent? James' other parent, I mean?" Sherlock asked.

"It was a teenaged boy from the system. He got the virus and had gotten cut, and DaShawn helped to bandage him up. We didn't know what was going on at first," Sierra explained. "We were terrified. We thought maybe he had cancer or something to that extent. Then one of his doctors did an ultrasound and there it was. There _he_ was, rather," She corrected.

"How did you feel about that, if you don't mind me asking?" John questioned.

"It was odd at first, obviously, but DaShawn wanted the child. He loved children, and he loved Selah, and was happy that Selah would have a little brother to play with. He wasn't even afraid when he was going in for the C-Section. He just kept saying how beautiful the baby would be."

"My goodness, he does sound like a good man!"

"Agreed," Sherlock said.

"So, how far along are you?" Sierra spoke up.

"A little more than three months."

"And do you have a wife?" She asked.

"No. It's just myself and John."

"We're just friends," John added. "Flatmates. I'm a doctor, so I'll be helping him along as the pregnancy progresses. Our landlady will be of help too, if Sherlock needs anything."

"That's wonderful," Sierra said. "I'm glad you have a good support system in place. Please know that we'd love to keep in contact with you and help out however we can. We don't have much, but we're loving people, and it would be nice if Selah and James could see their half-sibling on occasion."

Sherlock nodded. "We may be able to arrange that, once the baby is born."

"Good, good."

Sherlock and John left a few hours later, both feeling much better about the situation at hand. Sherlock had been rather lucky when it came down to it – he may be having a baby, but at least he was having a baby with a really nice family.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for helping me to beta this story!**

Ch. 9

When Sherlock entered his fourth month of pregnancy, things began to change.

For one, he had started showing. He didn't look huge, but he had a small belly now and he'd been forced to update his wardrobe. For once, Mycroft had truly been of help. He hadn't mocked Sherlock at all and he'd even taken his little brother to his own personal tailor to have some of his trousers let out. Sherlock's coat was also worked on and made slightly larger to accommodate his growing waistline.

Sherlock had been embarrassed by it. He'd been so thin his whole life - Mycroft had always been the fat one, yet here he was, getting his clothing let out so that it would fit around his stomach.

"Don't be too upset," Mycroft told him after they'd returned to Sherlock's flat. "In five more months, you'll have the baby and I'm sure you'll lose weight quickly. You were blessed with that fast metabolism, after all. And just think: I do this every year."

Sherlock didn't think it was so much that he had a faster metabolism but that he tended to not eat as much as his brother did. He ate to fuel his body, not because he enjoyed it. Now, though, he was hungry constantly. He felt sure that by the end of his pregnancy, he'd be a blimp.

Mycroft interrupted Sherlock's internal bout of self-loathing by speaking up again.

"So, have you told Mum and Dad yet?"

"Not yet," Sherlock replied. Really, he'd only told John, Mycroft, DaShawn's family and Mrs. Hudson. He hadn't even considered telling his parents, for some reason.

"Well you ought to. They'll be so happy to hear that they're going to be grandparents! I'm sure Mum will want to babysit and all that."

"Probably," Sherlock agreed. "Or they'll just think that I'm a freak."

Mycroft scoffed.

"Come on, Sherlock. You know they won't be like that. Look at us - both of us! We're not exactly normal, and they love us just the same."

"Being a genius and being a pregnant male are two entirely separate things."

"You and I both know they won't think less of you."

"Right, well - ahh!" Sherlock bent forward and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"Sherlock?! What's wrong?" Mycroft asked nervously.

"Sharp pain..." Sherlock gasped. "Oh God…"

Mycroft led him over to the sofa and went to get John.

"John! Come quickly!" He called.

John, who had been in his room writing a blog entry on his laptop, ran out towards the living room.

"What's going on?"

"Sherlock's in pain," Mycroft explained. "Looks like it's in his stomach."

Both men looked at each other, both having the same exact thought - had something happened to the baby?

"Alright, alright. We need to keep calm. Sherlock," John moved closer to his friend. "I'm going to help you lie down, then I'm going to examine you." The doctor looked at Mycroft. "Hand me a pillow."

Mycroft did as instructed and together, he and John helped Sherlock to lay flat on his back.

"It hurts," Sherlock hissed, hands still covering the area that the pain was radiating from.

"I need you to move your hands and I'm going to remove your shirt," John told him.

Ordinarily, Sherlock would have argued, but he was in too much pain to do so. He allowed John to unbutton his shirt so that he could get a better look.

John began to palpate Sherlock's lower stomach, directly above his pelvis.

"Does it hurt here?" He asked.

Sherlock let out a guttural growl, something John had never heard before.

"I'll take that as a yes. What about here?" He pressed another spot.

"Yes!" Sherlock nearly yelled. "Make it stop, John!"

"Alright, okay. We need to get him to Bart's."

Mycroft nodded and whipped out his phone. Within minutes, a team had arrived to discreetly escort Sherlock away.

00

"Well," John said as he flipped through the images he had in his folder. "We figured out what's causing the pain."

Sherlock was lying on a hospital bed, still writhing in agony.

"What is it? And can't you give him something?" Mycroft asked angrily.

"The MRI shows that he's growing a birth canal. And we can give him something, but we need his consent. There's always a risk giving pain medication to a pregnant person."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, did you hear that? You're growing a birth canal."

"Great." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"It means you'll likely be able to give birth naturally."

"I understand what a birth canal is, John!" Sherlock shot back. He felt awful and these useless comments weren't helping.

"Okay. Well, as I said, we can give you medicine, but only with your consent."

"No meds," Sherlock said firmly.

"Come on!" Mycroft urged. "Do you really want to suffer like this?"

"Might cause… relapse… and bad for the baby," Sherlock gasped. The pain seemed to come and go in waves.

"He's right." John said. "I mean, I'd give it to him if he were that bad off, but he's got a good point. The pain should be over relatively soon. We can get you a heating pad until then."

"Thanks." Sherlock answered.

John nodded.

"There's also another thing we can do that might take your mind off the pain."

"Yes?" Sherlock asked.

"You're far enough along now, we can see what sex the baby is."

Sherlock smiled, despite the pain he was in.

"Let's do that."

00

"A girl." Sherlock repeated what John had told him.

"Yes, a little girl."

"I'm going to have a daughter."

"Yes, you are."

"Wow."

Sherlock was grinning. Mycroft couldn't help but smile himself.

"And I'm going to be an uncle! Don't worry, Sherlock, I'll make sure no one messes with her."

"I've got that covered. We'll be needing to pick out a baseball bat soon, John." Sherlock said.

"Yes, we will."

"A girl," Sherlock said again, his happiness canceling out most of the pain he was feeling. "I can't wait to meet her."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for helping me to beta this story!**

Ch. 10

It had taken a few days for the soreness to finally go away, but when it did, Sherlock immediately went back to working cases. The latest one had been a real doozy.

Someone had been killing off the male members of a particular family. Lestrade and the others thought it was the youngest brother of them all – with everyone out of his way, he would be heir to the family fortune - but it ended up being the maid.

Sherlock had pursued her for several blocks, something which normally would not have been a big deal. Now, he was breathing heavily by the time he captured her, and he felt like he was going to keel over.

"We'll take it from here," Lestrade said, helping Sherlock up. He had pinned the maid down after capturing her.

Donovan and Anderson stood nearby, ready to put the woman in handcuffs. As they did this, they occasionally glanced up at Sherlock.

"You alright?" Anderson called. "You look a bit winded. Maybe you ought to cut back on the extra pastries, eh?"

Donovan elbowed her partner.

"Oh, come on. You know it's because he's pregnant!"

Sherlock and Lestrade both sighed at the same time. Why was this happening again?

"Stop it!" Lestrade admonished the two. "You're acting like four year olds."

Donovan rolled her eyes but said nothing. Anderson kept his mouth shut as well. Meanwhile, Lestrade pulled Sherlock over to where they were out of ear shot. Once the consulting detective caught his breath, Lestrade spoke up.

"Sherlock, I have to ask you… what's going on? And be honest with me, please. I won't tell anyone, I just need to ensure your safety. If you've just put on some weight, that's one thing, but if you're… Well, if you're pregnant, like the others have been suggesting…" He trailed off.

Sherlock frowned.

"The rumors are true. I'm with child." Sherlock replied quietly.

Lestrade took a moment to process this before speaking again.

"From the Williams case, I presume? How far along are you?"

"I contracted the virus from DaShawn Williams, yes. I'm almost five months along now."

"Five months." Lestrade repeated.

Sherlock stared at him. He knew what the older man was going to say next and he braced himself for it.

"Sherlock, I don't think you should continue taking cases. We can get by without you for a few months at least. I can't have you hurting yourself or the baby chasing down some criminal."

"I can't stop taking cases," Sherlock answered. "I'd be bored out of my mind!"

"Come on, there's got to be something else you can do. Don't you have hobbies?"

"This work is my hobby. I can't imagine how I'd get by without it. Either way, you can't stop me from working. I'll find my own cases, if necessary. People come to me all the time asking for help!"

"Sherlock, don't do that. You could really get hurt!"

"Either you let me stay on or I'll work by myself."

Lestrade's shoulders slumped. He knew Sherlock was serious. He'd absolutely go find his own cases to handle. At least if he stayed with Scotland Yard, Lestrade could help keep an eye on him.

"Can we come to some type of compromise, then? How about you continue working with us, but the physical stuff – the running and such – we make Anderson and Donovan do that. You do the deduction, they do the legwork."

"They're idiots. They'll never catch anyone."

"Actually, Donovan runs marathons. She's in decent shape. You, of course, would be our most valuable asset nonetheless."

"Trying to kiss up to me?" Sherlock joked before reassuming his serious demeanor. "If the chase isn't too physical, I want in. I'll agree to let Donovan do the running if it's long distance."

"And if there's any chance that the perp is armed, you can't go in, either."

Sherlock let out a loud sigh.

"Are you serious?"

"I am. Come on, Sherlock. Think of your baby! What if you were stabbed, or shot?"

Sherlock glared at Lestrade.

"…Fine," He finally agreed. "I don't like it, but fine."

"And just think," Lestrade added. "In a few short months, after the baby is born, you can go right back to doing the scarier stuff."

Sherlock huffed, but said nothing. He didn't like it, but he knew that Lestrade was right. He had to keep the baby in mind, even if it meant his own boredom.

00

Even though Sherlock understood Lestrade's perspective, it didn't stop him from complaining to John when the returned to their flat.

"And he just expects me to sit around like… like you do! On a computer, looking up information, doing research!"

"Oh, yes. I know how awful _that _is," John replied sarcastically.

"It'll be so boring! How can I endure that for another four months?!"

"Lestrade's right, though. You know that."

"I didn't come to you for a lecture, John. I came here to vent!"

"Well, go vent to someone else. You're being selfish, Sherlock. Your baby should be your first priority at all times."

"Fine," Sherlock said, grabbing his coat. "I'll go talk to Molly. Maybe she'll be more sympathetic."

00

It turned out that Molly was not more sympathetic, but she was nicer to talk to than John, who had, in Sherlock's mind, simply brushed him off.

"Sherlock, I know it'll be boring for you, but think about the child." Molly spoke as she injected something into a test tube.

"I know, but still–" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence. As if on cue, the baby had kicked.

Molly looked up from her experiment.

"You alright?"

"She… she kicked!"

Molly grinned.

"Did she, now?"

Sherlock's eyes grew even wider.

"She… She just did it again! Ow!" He looked down at his abdomen. "Not in the ribs, child!"

Molly's smile broadened even more.

"It's a girl? Oh, how lovely! Is this the first time you've felt her?"

"Felt her? No. I've felt her move before. It always was gentle, though, like butterflies in my stomach. Now she's– bloody hell!"

"She kicking you in the ribs again?"

"My God, DaShawn must've been a football player!"

"That's the other parent, right?" Molly tried to get all the facts straight. She'd heard some details about the whole thing from John, but hadn't talked to Sherlock too often recently.

"Yes..." Sherlock grimaced as the baby kicked yet again. "He's the other parent. I met his family a few weeks ago."

"That sounds lovely. Were they nice?"

"Very. Ah…" Sherlock relaxed a bit. "She's calming down now. Yes, they were very nice. DaShawn seemed to have been a good man. He was a social worker who helped troubled youths in the foster system."

"Wow."

"All considering, I'm quite lucky that the other parent was an upstanding citizen."

"That's true. It could've been someone worse, that's for sure."

Sherlock now looked much more relaxed.

"Feeling better now?"

"Yes. I suppose that you, and John, and Lestrade are all correct. She should be my top priority."

"I'm glad that's sinking in," Molly said. "Oh, by the way, Mycroft sent me this. Said to give it to you the next time I saw you." She reached into her lab coat's pocket and pulled out a flash drive.

"What is it?"

Molly shrugged.

"I'm not sure. I didn't look. He said something about helping you take precautions at work."

"Hmm." Sherlock tried to figure out what that meant. "I'll take a look when I get home."

Molly nodded and returned her attention to her work.

"I suppose I'll be going now," Sherlock announced.

"Alright. See you soon, Sherlock."

"See you later, Molly."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for helping me to beta this story! Also, the dancing scene was inspired by something I found on imgur. Wish I could link it here. Happy Valentine's Day!**

Ch. 11

"Oh my God. You've got to see this. John! Come here!" Sherlock was watching the video that had been uploaded to the flash drive that Mycroft had sent.

"What is it?" John asked, walking over. He'd been working on a blog post and wasn't in the mood to be interrupted.

"Oh my God," Sherlock was laughing hysterically. "Look!"

On Sherlock's computer, there was a video playing on loop that showed Donovan and Anderson attempting to do the Harlem Shake at a staff meeting. Anderson was actually dancing on the table while Donovan and other officers and detectives danced near him.

Despite his mood, John couldn't help but laugh as well. With absolutely no context, the video was hilarious.

"Did- did someone put MDMA in the water cooler again?" John asked between bursts of laughter. "Where did you even get this?!"

"Mycroft sent it to me. Said I could use it to take precautions at work. By that, I'm sure he means blackmail if Donovan and Anderson get on my case again."

"That's bloody fantastic," John replied. "Seriously, Mycroft can be a bit off but that's… that's amazing."

"He can be a good brother when he wants to be," Sherlock answered. "And I guess lately he feels inspired to improve."

00

There were no cases that day, which was good, because Sherlock was very tired. He felt tired a lot lately, it seemed. John had reassured him that this was normal – his body was going through a lot of changes and it was sapping his energy.

As he lay relaxing on the couch, there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," John said, standing up. He felt bad asking Sherlock to do anything. He opened the door and in walked Mrs. Hudson with a large, pink box in her arms.

"John! How are you? Here!" She shoved the box into the doctor's arms. "Be a dear and put that down on the table. Where's Sherlock? I've got some items I think he may be interested in."

"I'm right here," Sherlock called lazily from the couch. He grunted as he forced himself up and walked into the kitchen, where John had set the box down.

"Look at you! You're glowing!" Mrs. Hudson said, grinning.

"I feel awful and I'm sure I look it, too. No need to lie." Sherlock groused.

Mrs. Hudson merely rolled her eyes.

"Fine, Sherlock. You do look awful. I was trying to be nice. Perhaps what I've brought will brighten your spirits a bit."

Sherlock nodded and watched as Mrs. Hudson slowly began to open the box.

"I'll, uh, get us some tea, then?" John asked.

"That'd be great." Mrs. Hudson answered. "Decaf for Sherlock!"

"I know. I'm a doctor, remember?"

Again, she rolled her eyes before opening the box and pulling out its contents. It looked to be a pile of clothing for infants. Specifically, female infants.

"Now, John told me you were having a little girl, and I thought these might be of use to you," She addressed Sherlock. "I had bought these years ago, back when I was married and planning a family of my own. I was pregnant and I just knew that it was going to be a girl – just had a feeling, you understand? Anyhow, I bought so many toys," She pulled out a stuffed pink teddy bear and placed it on the table. "And so many outfits." A pink and white polka-dotted dress was pulled out, along with a simple white onesie. There was a purple princess-type dress that had little sequins sewn onto it.

"For parties," Mrs. Hudson explained before pulling out numerous pairs of pink, white and purple socks.

Once the box was emptied, Sherlock looked everything over.

"This is kind of you, Mrs. Hudson. Truly."

"I hate to ask," John said, handing a cup of tea over to the older woman. "But… I guess you didn't have a daughter?"

"She was born sleeping," Mrs. Hudson answered, voice barely above a whisper. John feared that she might begin to cry, but she managed to shake the sadness off. "It wasn't meant to be, I suppose. But that doesn't mean that your little girl can't make use of some of these! Think how adorable she would look in this little pink frock!" She held up the garment for Sherlock to see.

Both John and Sherlock smiled.

"I'm sure she would look lovely," Sherlock answered.

Mrs. Hudson smiled back.

"Have you discussed names?"

"I have a few in mind," Sherlock replied.

"Do tell?"

"Well, personally, I like Marie. For Marie Curie, of course."

"Of course," Mrs. Hudson echoed, smirking. Leave it to Sherlock to name his child after a scientist.

"Then maybe something more classical. I'm still thinking of a good middle name."

"Well, Marie is a good first name, so at least she'll have that. How's Mycroft taking it all?"

"He's actually quite happy. He seems to be excited about being an uncle. In fact, he sent over this big box of scientific literature that, when read to infants, supposedly stimulates their mental capacity."

"I'm not surprised by that," Mrs. Hudson said. "But I'm sure she'll be intelligent no matter what you do."

"Speaking of Mycroft," John said, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn't help but groan. He knew where this was going.

"Did you get around to reading that note that Mycroft left?"

"I read it," Sherlock snipped.

"Was it something important?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sherlock sighed.

"He says that if I don't tell my Mum and Dad, he'll do it for me."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened, while John just chuckled.

"You mean you haven't told them?! Call them, Sherlock! Tell them! They're going to be grandparents, after all!"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'll do it."

"You'd better. Mycroft's serious, you know," John said.

"Yes, John," Sherlock replied, jaw clenched. "I know."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for helping me to beta this story! **

Ch. 12

"You may as well just get it over with," John said.

He was watching as Sherlock paced back and forth, mobile phone in hand.

"I know, but it's going to be so... strange! They're going to think I'm crazy!"

"Nah. With you, anything is possible. And you know, you could prove it if you had to. Ultrasounds and all."

Sherlock sighed and dialed his parents' number.

"Well, here goes."

00

"So...?" John asked. He'd left the room after Sherlock had started talking with his parents, wanting to give his friend some privacy.

"They want to see me for themselves."

"Ah. Alright. We can have them over."

Sherlock scowled.

"I take it that you don't want them to visit?"

"It's not that, it's just... They're... It's going to be stressful."

"Hmm."

"I feel like everyone's closing in on me, John. Checking up on me, calling me, texting me, asking if I need anything. It's -" Sherlock stopped, eyes wide as an idea came to him.

"Oh, Lord. What are you thinking?"

"What if I kill two birds with one stone? Or rather, six birds?"

"I'm listening."

"What if we have a dinner party when my parents come? We can invite Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade - have everyone here, all at once! Then they'll get to see me and they'll surely leave me alone, at least for a week or two. Well, maybe not Lestrade, since he provides me with work and all, but the rest of them will get their fill of being around me and will stay away for a while!"

"That's... actually a decent idea. It could work."

"I know it could. That's why I suggested it."

"Right. So, how about Saturday, then? I can send out some invites, and maybe Mrs. Hudson can help me cook."

Sherlock grinned.

"Excellent. And make sure that Mrs. Hudson makes some of that sweet bread, and maybe some of those strawberry cupcakes with the vanilla icing. Marie's been craving them a lot lately."

"You mean _you've_ been craving them a lot," John jokingly poked Sherlock in the stomach.

"Yes, do remind me of how fat I've gotten," Sherlock said sarcastically. There was an undertone of hurt, though. John knew that Sherlock wasn't liking the physical chances that came along with pregnancy all that much.

"Aw, come on. I'm kidding. And you'll lose weight really fast once she's born, you know."

"People keep saying that."

"It's true. You don't eat much normally. You're only eating more because of the pregnancy. Once the baby's out and you're free to run around again, you'll be thin as a rail in no time."

Sherlock nodded. "I hope you're right."

00

The party ended up being a decent affair, all considering. John and Mrs. Hudson had done most of the cooking, though Molly and Lestrade and both brought desserts. Sherlock's parents were as nice as ever, talking to everyone at the table.

"It all makes sense now," Sherlock's father said to Lestrade. "He has looked chubbier in those photos on John's blog. We thought that perhaps Mycroft was influencing him at first!"

Both Sherlock and Mycroft did their best to ignore that remark.

"You know, Sherlock's the best we've got. He solves cases that would go cold otherwise. We're very lucky to have him," Lestrade said before sipping at his drink.

"Oh, we know," Sherlock's mother replied. "He's quiet the genius. As is Mycroft, just in a different way. We're quite lucky to have such intelligent children. Hopefully our grandchild will be just as smart!"

"Speaking of," Sherlock's dad piped up. "Does anyone know anything about the other parent?"

"He was a social worker," Mycroft answered. "A good man, apparently."

"Killed in a mugging," Mrs. Hudson added.

"That's a shame. Was he from London?"

"Tower Hamlets," John answered. "Bad neighborhood, but a good guy nonetheless. He had a wife and child who was born naturally, along with a son whom he'd given birth to a few months prior to his death."

"He was young, then?" Sherlock's mom was asking.

"Thirty one."

"Even if the other parent wasn't so good, I'm sure that Sherlock would be an excellent father," Molly added softly.

The remark made both of Sherlock's parents smile.

00

The rest of the dinner went on well enough, but by the time it was over, Sherlock was almost entirely drained.

"You alright?" John asked as he moved to clean up some of the dishes left on the table.

"Tired. No doubt you've noticed how draining it is to be around so many people."

"They're friends and family, though, so it wasn't that bad."

Sherlock sighed.

"I'm going to take a walk."

With that, Sherlock headed for the door.

"Maybe you'd like to stay and help me clean up first?" John called after him.

He was answered by the sound of the door slamming shut.

00

It was a fairly warm summer evening. It had rained earlier in the day and the earth and grass smelled very nice. Sherlock found it soothing. The streets were strangely quiet, which made the evening all the more enjoyable.

Sherlock slowly made his way down a few blocks to a nearby park. It was dusk, but it was still bright enough for him to see. He sat down on a bench, intent on clearing his mind when he noticed someone he knew.

"Sierra?" He called out.

Sierra was at the park, along with Selah. The two were tossing a ball back and forth on the grass.

"Sherlock?" Sierra called back. She pushed the ball back to her daughter and stood up. Sherlock got up and made his way over.

"Nice seeing you here," Sierra greeted him.

He nodded and looked at her, then at Selah.

"I don't mean to break up your game," He commented, noting that Selah seemed ready to throw the ball again.

"It's fine. I could use a break. Selah, honey, why don't you take one last turn on the monkey maze?" She pointed to a brightly colored structure that had several climbing surfaces along with a large slide on it.

"Okay." Selah dropped the ball and headed over towards the maze, about three meters away from the adults.

"She's easy to please," Sherlock said, amazed that the child had followed her mother's suggestion so easily.

"Right now, she is. She can be a handful at other times though. Especially when it's time to go to grocery shopping, or anywhere else that she doesn't want to go."

"Ah. So that's what I've got to look forward to, then." Sherlock replied.

"Well, it's not all bad. Sure, children make messes. They get into things – Selah got into the toothpaste three weeks ago and spread it all over the bathroom floor. Took me over an hour to get it all up! And sometimes they disobey, and they do things we don't want them to do, or they cry and they yell, but then other times, they're amazing. You can look at them and know that a part of you is in them, either through blood or personality traits. Take James – he may not have my genetics, but he likes to hear me read. In fact, right now he's with Ruby two blocks away, and she's reading him fairy tales. He picked that up from me, I think. It's fantastic, really."

"You make a good point. I keep hoping that my child will be as intelligent as I am."

"They may well be. Do you know if you're having a boy or girl?"

"A girl. I'm going to name her Marie."

"That's a nice name. But remember, even if she's not a genius, she will still be like you in some ways. I'm sure you'll love her no matter what."

Sherlock nodded.

"I'm sure you're right."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for helping me to beta this story! **

Ch. 13

It was a 'short' chase, so Sherlock had been allowed to run after the criminal. The man was a small-time bandit who'd recently scaled up his operation, going so far as to steal half a million pounds in jewels from one of the royal duchesses. The man had made it about fifty feet from her mansion when Sherlock caught up. He was huffing and puffing but was confident that he would be able to take the man down and arrest him. What Sherlock hadn't been expecting was for the man to turn around and shove him out of the way, knocking him to the floor.

Instinctively, Sherlock reached out his hands to cushion his fall, but he still managed to hit the ground pretty hard. He laid on his side, trying not to groan, as Marie kicked at his ribs angrily.

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to will away the pain he was feeling. In the distance he could hear the sound of Donovan's footsteps as she closed in on the perp. Seconds later, he heard the man fall and the click of handcuffs being slapped on his wrists. Lestrade had been right – Donovan was in very good shape, and quite fast.

It wasn't long before Anderson and Lestrade caught up. Anderson smirked when he saw Sherlock lying on the ground, but said nothing, as Lestrade was giving him a death glare. Rather than mocking his colleague and risking termination, Anderson wandered over to Donovan and the criminal. Lestrade stood behind and helped Sherlock up.

"You alright?" Lestrade asked, worried. He looked Sherlock over for any obvious sign of injury.

Sherlock brushed himself off and pretended that the fall didn't hurt at all.

"Only my pride was injured," He replied.

"You look like you're in pretty bad pain, though."

Damn. Sherlock had thought that he'd been concealing it well.

"I assure you that I'm fine. The child simply threw off my center of balance slightly, made it harder to run."

Lestrade nodded, and Sherlock could tell that the other man was deep in thought.

"We got the thief anyway," Sherlock said. "Donovan caught him."

"That's true."

It still seemed like something was on Lestrade's mind, so Sherlock waited another moment. Finally, the older man spoke his thoughts.

"Sherlock, I don't want you on any more cases until after the baby is born. Wait, no. I don't want you on cases until after you've recovered once the baby is born."

"This again?!" Sherlock argued. "We discussed this!"

"It's too dangerous, Sherlock. You could've been hurt in that fall and I'd wager that you probably were. The baby could have been hurt. I'm sorry, but you'll have to sit the next few months out."

Sherlock said nothing in response. Rather, he stormed off into the night.

00

Three weeks had passed since the night that Sherlock fell. He was exactly seven months pregnant, and now he felt huge. Absolutely huge and disgusting. He had even begun to develop stretch marks. He felt hideous and even moving around to do simple tasks seemed like a chore.

John seemed to think that most of this was in Sherlock's mind, and that perhaps he was depressed, since he had been banned from taking cases. To help with this, John invited Sherlock to join him and Molly in the lab. They were working on a vaccine for the virus that Sherlock had.

Apparently, babies born from parents with the virus also had the virus. Despite Mycroft's best efforts, word about the virus had gotten out. Donovan and Anderson no doubt had something to do with that. Sherlock had heard them discussing his condition – or their thoughts on whether or not he had the condition – time and time again. Someone probably overheard them and word had spread. Now, the public was alarmed, thus the vaccination research.

The main issue was that the virus had begun to mutate. Molly and John were working at the lab for at least twelve hours a day. Sherlock's help would have been welcome, had he decided to join them.

He hadn't, though. Sherlock stayed at home most of the time, keeping to himself.

And then, the article came out.

John had been the first to see it. It was on the Daily Mail's homepage, and the headline read 'Sherlock Holmes: Pregnant or Fat?'

Beneath the headline were several bullet points, each listing various "facts":

-Detective has not been seen working any cases lately and rarely leaves his home  
>-Gained a considerable amount of weight, mainly through his midsection<br>-Anonymous source claims that he is seven months pregnant and fell while chasing a suspect

'See the photos and decide for yourself!'

Beneath everything were several large photos of Sherlock taken at horrible angles, making him look much bigger than he really was. Some of the paparazzi had apparently taken pictures the last time Sherlock had gone food shopping. He was wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt that was stretched far too tightly across his abdomen. With autumn approaching, he had a light jacket on, but it failed to hide his midsection.

'We quizzed three hundred people and the results are in!

-70% think Sherlock is fat  
>-30% think Sherlock is pregnant<p>

We'll find out in a few months for sure!'

John scowled as he read the article. If Sherlock didn't feel terrible before, he definitely would now. He called Mycroft and asked if he could do anything about the article, but besides that, his only hope was that perhaps he and Molly and maybe Mrs. Hudson could cushion the blow. As far as the "anonymous source" went, John would bet his life savings and his left nut that it was either Anderson or Donovan.

Later that day, the Harlem Shake video was uploaded to YouTube. Anonymously, of course.

00

John went to the lab after reading the article, hoping for the best on the entire ride there. The morning itself was quiet. Molly was working on one set of mutations while he and another scientist worked on the original virus.

Around 10 AM, the door opened.

Everyone looked up. There was Sherlock, still wearing his pajamas and a shirt that was way too small, holding a printout of the Daily Mail article.

"'Pregnant or fat?'" Sherlock read aloud. "Seventy percent of the polled group thinks that I'm fat!"

"Oh, Sherlock," John said, frowning. "I'm sorry that you had to see that. I'd hoped that Mycroft would've gotten it down in time."

"Yes, well. little miss Marie was making quite a fuss kicking me this morning and woke me early. It was the first thing I saw when I went online." Sherlock looked both angry and like he wanted to cry. John had no idea what to do.

Thankfully, Molly seemed to.

"Sherlock, why don't we go to the break room?" She suggested.

Grudgingly, Sherlock followed her along. Once in the room, Molly removed her gloves, washed her hands, and pulled out a seat for Sherlock to sit on. No one else was there, so they could talk freely.

"I know that article probably hurt your self-esteem a lot, but I saw it too, and those photos are just from really bad angles."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped.

"I look like I've swallowed a beach ball, Molly! Why didn't anyone tell me I'd gotten this big? Now I know how Mycroft must feel."

Molly nodded sympathetically.

"Again, those photos were taken at bad angles, but either way, you've only got two more months before Marie is born. You'll be so busy taking care of her and teaching her, you'll be thin again in no time."

"That's the fifth time I've heard that. I really, really hope that you all are right about this."

Molly gently placed a hand on Sherlock's forearm.

"Even if for some reason you didn't lose weight, you'll still look fine. At least, I'd think so. I'm sure lots of women would think so, too. You've got quite the female fan-base, you know."

Sherlock smiled a little.

"I suppose you're right. John says that he gets several comments from women each week with their phone numbers."

Molly's smile faltered a bit, but she tried to remain positive for his sake.

"See? These writers are just jerks out to make money off of other people's misery. Don't take it too close to heart."

Sherlock knew that Molly was right, but he still felt a little upset.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for helping me to beta this story! **

Ch. 14

Sherlock was now eight months pregnant. Though he had received repeated invites from John and Molly to join them at the lab, he chose to stay at the flat as often as possible.

Ever since that article had been published, Sherlock felt wary of going out. He didn't want to be photographed or talked about, or have cruel articles written about him. He acted like the whole incident had been forgotten, but really, it hadn't been.

The result was John working long days with Molly and the rest of the team while Sherlock stayed at home and did absolutely nothing. With no cases to take, he felt bored. Coupled with his tendency toward depression and the fatigue he felt due to the pregnancy, he ended up spending most of his time either in his room or curled up on the couch.

For a while, John was okay with this. Recently, however, it had become annoying. Sherlock made no effort to help out with chores or cooking or anything, nor had he begun preparing for the baby. He had yet to buy a crib, a changing table, or the various other items that Marie would need.

Then one day, it all came to a head.

John had worked thirteen hours, non-stop, with only short breaks to go to the toilet. The team was extremely close to coming up with a vaccine, so they were all working long days.

The doctor had returned home to find Sherlock once again curled up on the couch, staring at the television. There was some nature documentary on. John doubted that Sherlock was even watching it.

After noticing Sherlock, John surveyed the flat.

The place was still a mess. Dishes were piled up in the sink and clothes were thrown all over, no doubt because Sherlock had been rummaging through his wardrobe trying to find something that fit. In the end it hadn't even mattered - Sherlock was still wearing his dressing gown and pajamas, so the clothes had been taken out in vain.

"Sherlock," John said, trying to get his flatmate's attention.

Sherlock sighed loudly and sat up on the couch.

"What is it, John?" He asked, annoyed that his sulking had been interrupted.

"Just thought I'd let you know I'm home."

"Great." Sherlock moved to lie back down, but John spoke again.

"So I take it you've been here since this morning, then? On the couch? Same as when I left?"

"What's it matter?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you know. I just figured that maybe you'd have liked to get up and move around. Maybe do some chores and help out, since I've been working twelve to thirteen hour days for two weeks now. You know, be a decent flatmate."

Sherlock said nothing. How could he respond to that? John was right - he should've been doing more, but he just hadn't felt like it.

When Sherlock didn't reply, John continued.

"Not to mention that you've done nothing to prepare for Marie. There's no high chair, no crib. Where's she going to sleep? In your dresser drawer? No diapers, but I suppose she'll just shit on herself, right? Because you, her father, can't be bothered to prepare. No, no. Lying around, watching television and..." John looked on the floor, noting several cartons of Chinese takeaway. "...eating Chinese food are more important than her well being. Oh, oh. And complaining about how fat and miserable you are, after eating an entire day's worth of food in one meal - that's more important, too. Fuck, Sherlock, you do absolutely nothing and expect everyone to pity you and cater to your whims and feel bad for you!"

Sherlock's jaw dropped. He was stunned by John's outburst. Stunned and hurt, even if John's statements were technically correct.

"And now… Now I get to clean up after you. Make you dinner and be nice to you and all that. It's not like I just worked thirteen hours, or anything!"

"I… I'm sorry, John," Sherlock mumbled, not daring to meet John's gaze.

"Whatever. I'm going to go rest. You just continue on with what you're doing. Or not doing, rather."

Before Sherlock could even open his mouth, John had turned and begun to walk away towards his room.

00

Two hours later, John felt better. He had taken a short nap and relaxed, and now felt much more calm. He had even started to feel bad about what he had said to Sherlock, though he'd meant most of it. He was getting tired of putting up with Sherlock's laziness after working so long and hard each day. The whole 'woe is me' bit was getting annoying.

Still, he figured he may as well go make them both dinner. He was hungry, and making a second portion wouldn't be too hard.

With this in mind, John returned to the living room. As he entered, he heard muffled crying.

At first he thought that Sherlock was being whiny again and crying because he'd been yelled at. John sighed loudly and approached the couch, where Sherlock still was.

"What is it now, Sherlock? My God, there's so many people who've got it worse off than you and -" It was then that it hit him that Sherlock's cries were not emotional. Rather, it sounded like he was in pain. Any anger that the doctor felt instantly fell away.

"Sherlock?" John asked, coming around to get closer. "Sherlock, I'm sorry! I'm sorry for yelling - tell me what's wrong."

"Hurts," Sherlock moaned between sobs. "Hurts so much…"

"Alright, okay." John forced himself to remain calm. Times like these were when his military training came in handy. He took a deep breath then returned his attention to Sherlock. "Sherlock, tell me where it hurts."

Sherlock laid a hand on his lower stomach. Tears were streaming down his face, and John couldn't help but feel bad for him.

"Okay. What does it feel like on a scale of one to ten?"

"Ten… like my stomach muscles are tight, too tight. Pressure… It really hurts!"

The first thing that came to John's mind was contractions. Maybe Sherlock was having contractions. Maybe the baby was coming early.

"Are they on and off?" John asked, forcing his voice to remain even.

"Yes. When they're on it's so- Ahhhhh, fuck...!" Sherlock cringed as a stronger wave of pain hit.

"Okay, okay. You're going to be okay, Sherlock. I'm going to call for an ambulance and-"

"No. Don't want attention. Call a cab," Sherlock gasped.

John wanted to protest, but he knew that Sherlock could be incredibly stubborn.

"...Fine," He agreed.

John reached into his pocket, took out his mobile phone, and dialed for a cab. Once he was done with that, he knelt down near his friend.

"Here, Sherlock. Take my hand."

Sherlock did as he was told. John could feel him shaking.

"Alright. While we're waiting, we're going to do some breathing, okay? I need you to take a deep breath and count to five while you're inhaling. Hold it for five counts, then count to five when you exhale. I'll do it with you. Ready?"

Sherlock nodded. Tears were still pouring down his face.

"Okay. Inhale," John instructed. He counted to five mentally and watched as Sherlock did his best to do the same. John continued to lead him through the exercise and held his hand the entire time.

After several times doing this, John noticed that Sherlock was starting to relax.

"You're doing great, Sherlock. Fantastic. If the pain gets bad, you can squeeze my hand, okay? As hard as you need to."

Sherlock nodded again and took another deep breath.

Right then, John's phone went off. The cab was outside. John told the cabbie that they were coming and began the process of helping Sherlock up.

"Count of three… One, two, three." He pulled Sherlock up off the couch with surprising ease, then wrapped an arm around his waist.

Sherlock groaned as he took his first steps but managed to maintain his composure for the rest of the walk. Thankfully, it was short. As they walked outside, John opened the back door of the cab and helped Sherlock get in. The doctor followed and sat next to him.

"Bart's," He told the cabbie. "And there's a hundred pounds in it for you if you keep this to yourself."

Better to just nip any rumors in the bud, John figured. The cabbie smiled and nodded.

"Yes, sir!"

00

It didn't take long to get to St. Bart's. The cabbie apparently knew a few short cuts and had used them for his more generous clients. He dropped them off at the emergency room exit. There, John helped Sherlock out. The pain had subsided for the time being, but John wanted to get him into an exam room as soon as possible.

Someone must've been looking out for them that evening, because the nurses on staff at the front desk were ones that John had worked with before.

"Doctor Watson," One nurse - a red-headed woman in her mid-forties greeted him.

"My friend here needs help. Can you page Doctor Conroy? He's usually on duty on Thursday evenings, right?"

"He's in tonight. Let's get your friend into a room and then I'll page him. I'm sure he'll come in shortly."

"Thanks Barbara," John said.

To Sherlock, the whole interaction was odd. He usually associated with just a small amount of people - those at work, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and John. Seeing John talk to someone else, a past colleague, seemed strange. Or maybe the pain he'd been in was just getting to him.

Sherlock didn't bother to put up a fight as Barbara helped him into a wheelchair. She walked alongside as John pushed Sherlock down a hallway and into an exam room. While they walked, John described his symptoms.

"Does he need help getting undressed or on the bed?" The nurse asked.

"I'll take care of it. Please call Dr. Conroy now."

"I will."

"Thanks again."

The nurse left and John and Sherlock were now alone. John left Sherlock in the wheelchair and walked towards one of the cabinets where he knew that hospital gowns were stored. He picked out an extra large one.

"Can you get into this on your own?"

"I think so," Sherlock answered.

"Okay. That's not good enough, unfortunately. I'm going to help you."

"Alright," Sherlock whispered.

At this point, he was past feeling embarrassed. He just wanted to make sure that Marie was alright. He didn't care about himself - now that there might be an actual problem with his pregnancy, his thoughts were focused on his daughter.

John was quite good at working with patients and he managed to get Sherlock out of his robe and PJs and into the gown rather quickly before helping Sherlock onto the bed.

Just as the pain began to reappear, Dr. Conroy entered.

"Evening, John." The taller doctor greeted him. "Mr. Holmes."

"I think something's wrong. Is she going to be okay?"

John frowned.

"Sherlock, before we start, I just want to tell you that I've worked with Dr. Conroy for several years - he's the best in the OB-GYN field and I consulted with him about your case. Please try to relax, Dr. Conroy will examine you and explain it all."

"Alright," Sherlock agreed. "But please, act quickly! She may be in danger!"

The doctor - a tall man in his late sixties with gray hair, glasses, and a kind face, smiled at him.

"It's alright, Mr. Holmes. The nurse who helped bring you in described your symptoms - I'll do an exam, but from the looks of it, it's Braxton Hicks contractions, which are quite common."

"Oh." Sherlock felt stupid. How had he not thought of that? He had researched pregnancy early on and recalled learning about false contractions, yet he'd freaked out instead of thinking logically.

As if reading his mind, John spoke up.

"It's alright, Sherlock. It's okay that you feel afraid. Everything will be fine."

Personally, John agreed with Doctor Conroy's assessment, he just wanted the older man to do the exam to help calm Sherlock down.

"He's right," Dr. Conroy added. "It's okay that you're afraid. Perfectly natural. Now, I'm going to give the exam, and we'll figure out what's going on for sure soon enough."

00

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Conroy confirmed his diagnosis of Braxton Hicks contractions. He advised Sherlock to rest. He suggested that the detective go home, take a warm bath, and have a hot cup of herbal tea. He also advised Sherlock to eat smaller, more frequent meals instead of eating large amounts in one sitting as Sherlock had recently been doing.

As Sherlock and John left the hospital, John couldn't help but apologize. His rant had probably stressed Sherlock enough to put him in this state.

"Sherlock," John said as they got into the cab back home. "I'm sorry. Really. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Sherlock was clearly tired, but he managed to smile.

"Thank you, John, but you were right. I've got to start preparing for Marie's arrival, and I should start helping out more. Sitting in one spot all day isn't good."

John nodded.

"I'm just glad everything was alright," Sherlock whispered. "I can't imagine having lost her."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for beta'ing this.**

Ch. 15

It took Sherlock a good day to fully recover from the panic and pain of the false contractions, but when he finally did, he set himself to work preparing for Marie.

John was right - there was a lot that the baby would need and that he had yet to purchase.

First things first, he made a list.

Marie would need a crib, not to mention its mattress and bedding. A changing table, diapers, a diaper pail, some bins to store her clothes in, a baby bathtub, baby shampoo and soap, soft towels and, of course, formula. Then there were the other things - toys, for instance. Sherlock wanted her to have toys that would challenge but amuse her. A baby swing and a play mat, too. He'd need a harness as well, so he could carry her around if walking long distances. Then again, a pram might do the trick instead.

Sherlock sighed as he looked his massive list over. All of this was going to cost a lot, and while he made somewhat decent money consulting, he wasn't sure how he was going to pay for all of it.

Thankfully, John and Mrs. Hudson came to the rescue.

00

John had seen the list after it had been left out while Sherlock napped on the couch. He was obviously still very tired. The doctor took note of the little mathematical formulations on the sides of the list - Sherlock had been adding up the cost of everything, apparently. The grand total came to well over £2000, an amount far over what he and the detective had at their disposal.

So, he went to Mrs. Hudson, who came up with the idea of throwing a baby shower. If others chipped in, maybe they could get Sherlock most of his baby supplies.

It would have to be small, of course. Sherlock was very easily stressed, as they now knew, and neither wanted to send him back to the hospital, so they devised a list of the closest people he knew besides themselves: Mycroft, Lestrade and Molly.

A date was set for a week out. Sherlock was aware of it, but didn't seem to be showing much emotion regarding it. That was a good thing, they figured. Better for him to be neutral than upset.

00

After sending out the invites and getting the responses, John circulated the list of items that Marie would need.

On the day of the party, Sherlock stayed in his room while Mrs. Hudson and John cooked, cleaned and decorated. The detective finally emerged when he heard the door open. The guests had arrived, and it was time to make an appearance. He surprised everyone by wearing a pair of stretchy black jeans and a blue button-down shirt that actually fit.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade greeted him, pulling him into a half hug. "Look at you! Just about ready to pop!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"That seems like a fair assessment."

Lestrade smiled and handed over a few boxes of gifts.

Molly was next. She arrived and gave Sherlock a hug as well, but instead of a box, she handed over a small gold envelope.

"You're looking well!" She complimented.

"Thank you," Sherlock answered.

Molly nodded and moved on.

Finally, Mycroft entered. He seemed to have several presents - so many that John was busy helping to bring them in.

"Ah, here we go," He said, setting down a large box. John set down two equally large boxes next to it.

"You're looking… big," Mycroft joked.

"I've recently realized how awful you must feel. Sorry for mocking you." Sherlock replied.

Mycroft stared at his brother for a moment, unsure if he was being truthful or insulting. He decided to believe it was the former and moved on.

The party consisted of food, followed by some silly baby games. There was discussion about the baby and other good news - John and Molly and their team had finally found a vaccine for the virus.

And then, after all that, the presents were brought out.

Sherlock had to admit, he was truly stunned by the pile of gifts that he had received. He knew that none of the guests besides Mycroft were particularly well off. This made their efforts even more meaningful.

"Which one should I open first?" Sherlock asked.

"Hmmm." John randomly picked a box off the top. "I think this is from Lestrade, yes?" He looked at the officer.

"Yes, that one's mine. Go on, open it."

Sherlock carefully unwrapped the paper to reveal a baby-sized bathtub. It was pink with yellow flowers on the side.

"That's cute," Sherlock smirked. "Thank you."

"That other box there goes with it," Lestrade told him.

John handed over a box that had matching colored wrapping paper. Sherlock opened it to find three bottles of baby shampoo, three bottles of baby bath wash, three bottles of baby lotion, and two soft pink and yellow towels.

"I… This is very kind of you," Sherlock said. He moved to give the man another hug.

"Hopefully that'll last you a bit."

"I'd like to think so!"

"Well go on," Lestrade urged. "See what else you've gotten!"

Molly's gift was next. It was that small gold envelope Sherlock had seen earlier.

"Ah, what's this? A card perhaps?" Sherlock asked. He didn't want Molly to feel bad if she had only been able to afford a card.

"Open it!" She said.

Sherlock did as he was told and there was, in fact, a card, but what was inside of it really surprised him. It was a gift card for an entire year's worth of diapers from the nearest department store.

"This must've cost you hundreds!" Sherlock said, staring at Molly in disbelief.

"A couple. But you needed it more than I did. You just show the card to the manager and they'll give you the diapers," She told him. "I hope Pampers are alright."

"Yes, that's absolutely fine - but Molly, you didn't need to do this!"

Molly shrugged. "I wanted to."

Sherlock smiled at her - truly smiled.

"Such nice friends you have, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson said.

"I do have nice friends," Sherlock agreed. He placed the card and its contents down.

"What's next?" John asked.

"Open mine!" Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock nodded. "Alright, then." He pushed himself up, since the boxes Mycroft had brought were too large to be carried over to him.

The first one turned out to be a pram, a very expensive pram that had several features, including two different hoods for various weather conditions and the ability to allow the parent pushing it to jog if they wanted. It had to be assembled, but Mycroft assured him that he'd paid someone to come by to take care of it that weekend.

The next box was a wooden bin to hold Marie's clothing. It even had a side hook on it that a hamper could be attached to. Being as thorough as he was, Mycroft had also purchased a small, foldable pink hamper.

The final box was a crib. A beautiful crib. It was a pearly white color. Like the pram, it was disassembled, but there was something different about it than the other gifts.

"This looks familiar," Sherlock said, looking over the parts of it that he could see.

"It was ours," Mycroft replied. "Mum and Dad gave it to me to give to you. The man coming to assemble the pram has instructions to assemble the crib as well."

"I… You disassembled this and transported it from Mum and Dad's house all the way here?" Sherlock asked, touched by his brother's gesture.

"Well, I paid someone to disassemble it, but yes. It fits a standard crib mattress, by the way. You'll have to purchase that yourself, though."

Sherlock waddled over to his brother and pulled him into a hug. Maybe it was the hormones, but he almost felt like he wanted to cry.

It ended up being John's present that pushed him over the edge, though.

He'd provided about six months' worth of baby formula, bottles, a play mat and… a photograph. Specifically, a framed photograph of Marie's most recent ultrasound.

"Oh my God," Sherlock mumbled as his eyes welled up.

"Aw, mate, don't cry," John said, hugging Sherlock. "It's just a picture."

"I love it! It's perfect, John, I… Thank you. Really." Sherlock gratefully accepted another hug from his friend before sitting back down, photo in hand.

Tears were still streaming down his face when he got to Mrs. Hudson's presents. She'd given Sherlock a changing table and a mat, along with dark blue diaper bag.

"It was the most masculine one I could find," She explained.

Sherlock grinned and hugged her too.

"Thank you all," He said. "Truly. You've made the next few months much easier on me."

Everyone said a "You're welcome".

Then the cake was served, and the party went on.

00

By the time everyone left, Sherlock was drained, physically and emotionally. He'd always felt himself to be an outsider, but everyone's gestures showed that they truly cared for him.

After helping John clean up, Sherlock made his way back to his room. John found him there an hour later, lying back on a pile of pillows and reading aloud from one of the books that Mycroft had previously given him.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock stopped reading and looked up.

"I've read studies that say she can hear me, so…" He began to explain.

John smiled and nodded.

"Well, go on then. Make sure you get some rest, though. We'll have a lot to set up over the next few days after all."

"Of course," Sherlock agreed.

As John walked off, Sherlock glanced down at the picture that John had given him. He'd taken it up to his room. Once again, his eyes began to well up. There she was - his daughter - and she would be here before he knew it.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Many thanks again to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this. There will be a sequel soon. Keep your eyes out for "Sherlock and Marie".**

Ch. 16

John and Sherlock had spent the day finishing up Marie's area of the main level bedroom. Sherlock had decided that he wanted to keep her close, and it wasn't as though they had an extra room for a nursery anyway.

After a dinner of spaghetti in homemade meat sauce, Sherlock had gone off to bed. He was tired. Marie would be there any day, and the closer he got to giving birth, the more tired he felt.

00

Around one in the morning, a sharp feeling of pressure woke Sherlock up. It was painful – very painful, much like the Braxton Hicks contractions that he'd had, except this time he noticed that his sheets were wet. His water had broken.

"Don't panic." He told himself. After the incident with the false contractions, John had told him what to expect when the baby really did come. He was prepared for this. It would all be okay.

Then another contraction hit.

"Ow… fuck! JOHN!" Sherlock called.

No answer. John must've been sleeping very soundly.

Sighing, Sherlock tried again, louder this time.

"JOHN! GET YOUR ARSE IN HERE! THE BABY'S COMING!"

00

Once John woke up and had seen that Sherlock's water had broken, he'd immediately taken him to St. Bart's.

Sherlock had been hoping for a fast labor. His mother had given birth to him in the car on the way to the hospital – maybe he'd be lucky in that sense, too. Get it all out of the way in half an hour or so.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. The contractions were very widely spaced, time-wise.

John sat by Sherlock's side as the labor progressed. Soon enough, dawn came and the baby still had not arrived.

Doctor Conroy arrived around eight in the morning. He checked on Sherlock, timed his contractions, and… did nothing. He wanted to wait a few more hours before giving any drugs.

This annoyed Sherlock. Marie was moving around and kicking him furiously as if to say that she wanted out, yet she didn't seem to be budging!

Finally, around noon, John persuaded the OB-GYN to give Sherlock a Pitocin injection to speed up the contractions.

The drug worked. It took another hour to work, but it did. The contractions were becoming more frequent and they were extremely painful. Sherlock was barely managing not to cry as they came over him.

John, still patient as a saint, continued to sit near him. He allowed Sherlock to squeeze his hand when the pain got to be too much. Sherlock nearly broke his fingers, but John did not complain.

The day went on.

By eighteen hundred hours, the contractions were becoming frequent enough that Doctor Conroy felt that the baby would be born soon. It was then that he administered an epidural, and John called Mycroft.

00

"The epidural should be blocking all of the pain," John said.

Mycroft was sitting on the other side of Sherlock's bed, allowing his brother to squeeze his hand.

"Well, it's not!" Sherlock growled. "Oh God, she's going to tear me in half!"

Mycroft looked at John.

"Is this normal?"

"No, no it's not. Sometimes epidurals fail, but it's rare. I'm going to get Doctor Conroy. You'll stay here?"

"Of course."

John stood up to leave. Before going, though, he turned to Sherlock.

"You're going to be just fine, Sherlock. I promise."

"Easy… for you… to say…" Sherlock answered through gritted teeth. Another contraction was passing over him.

It wasn't long before John and Doctor Conroy both re-entered the room.

Doctor Conroy did a quick examination of Sherlock to ensure that the epidural had been properly executed. It had been.

"The bad news is that you're one of the few that the epidural did not work on. The good news is that you're fully dilated. The baby will be coming along any minute now," Doctor Conroy explained.

Sherlock didn't reply. He was too busy gripping on to Mycroft's hand as another contraction hit.

Doctor Conroy looked him over once again.

"Oh my. I think she's actually coming now." The doctor pulled a stool over so he could help deliver the baby while asking John to call in a nurse.

As the nurse entered, Sherlock began to push.

"Good, good," The doctor told him. "Now, on the count of three, you need to push again. One… two… three."

There was a scream. A very loud scream. Almost everyone in the maternity wing could hear it.

"Holy hell, Sherlock!" John said, eyes wide. He hadn't thought that Sherlock could yell that loudly.

"It's like pushing a watermelon out of a sink pipe!" Sherlock spat. "You see how loud you'd scream if – Oh, ow! Oh God!" Another contraction hit, and Sherlock was told to push again.

Now, the baby was crowning.

"Just a few more pushes, Sherlock, and she'll be here." The doctor said. "Push again."

"Can't…" By now, Sherlock was drenched in sweat and shaking. He was pale – paler than usual, and he felt like he might faint.

John could see it coming and he quickly jumped into action.

"Oh no you don't. You're not going to pass out. Marie needs you to help her! Now push, Sherlock! Push!" Sherlock gave John a pathetic yet hateful look, but managed to push one last time.

Seconds later, the sound of crying filled the room.

00

For a newborn, Marie was gorgeous. She had darker skin and light eyes, much like DaShawn had, though she had a full head of wavy brown hair much like Sherlock's. Even the nurses were astonished by her beauty.

"Usually they're squinting more than that, since they've just been born. But she's beautiful," One nurse complimented.

Sherlock was holding her now. He smiled and thanked the nurse.

While in his arms, Marie was quiet. She seemed to almost be studying the world around her, staring at things, occasionally gripping Sherlock's finger if she could.

Once Sherlock was comfortable enough, John made calls to Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Molly while Mycroft called Sherlock's parents. When the group arrived, Sherlock announced the baby's full name:

Marie Elizabeth Holmes.

After that, the baby was passed around. Mrs. Hudson cooed at her and Molly held her awkwardly. Lestrade seemed more amused by the baby than anything, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes seemed to be on the verge of tears when they got to hold their grandchild for the first time.

The large group and the noise that it brought was enough to make Marie cry, though. Much like Sherlock, she apparently did not like crowds. Photos were quickly taken, hugs were given and promises were made to see the baby as soon as Sherlock was settled back home. Everyone except John left the room.

00

After a feeding, Marie quieted down and went to sleep. Sherlock seemed about ready to do the same. He had just started to relax when he heard John's phone go off. Someone had sent him a text.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"I sent a photo of Marie to Sierra. She says that she has DaShawn's eyes and that she hopes that she and her children can meet Marie soon."

Sherlock smiled.

"Tell her that we can arrange something."

"Will do."

As John typed away on his phone, Sherlock took one last look at Marie before he closed his eyes to sleep. He had never seen a girl any more beautiful than her.


End file.
